After this event, we remained in the locality several weeks. Sometimes a boat was lowered, and sent into one of the bays a fishing, which always returned with a number of the finny tribe of different varieties—cod, trumpeter, blue, white, and red fish. The last fish, of a red color and covered with fins, was known to the whalemen on the coast as the devil-fish, and another variety is known as the groper. It often equals the porpoise in size. All these fish are excellent eating, and are eagerly welcomed by a person who for months has had no fresh provision. I one day caught a fish of a bright-red color. On hauling him up, he extended three feelers from each side of the jaw, and two beautiful wings from his sides; these wings were bordered with alternate stripes of red and blue, that rivalled in color the tints of the rainbow. They were said to be called the garnet by the natives. The wings I preserved. They are unlike those of the flying-fish, being circular, and much thicker and stronger. The fish was about five inches long.
There are plenty of cray or craw fish, and several varieties of eels, in these bays. The latter are the most disgusting creatures that I ever saw. On being caught, they expel from their loathsome bodies a substance resembling milk. The Mauriis eat them; and when we were in Milford Haven Bay the schooner Eliza’s crew, who were then trying out a sperm whale, considered them as a delicacy, with no other preparation than immersing them in the boiling-hot oil. The crayfish belongs to the lobster family—its claws are somewhat similar, only lacking the pincer-like appendage. It is of a bright-red color, and is most luxurious eating. It is plentiful, and easily caught with a net, or hook and line.
Whilst in these bays fishing, the fresh green look of the vegetation, and sweet singing of the birds, made us long for a return to a life ashore. The sailor, if compelled to remain at sea, in all cases prefers to be far from land, with nothing to meet his gaze but sky and ocean—land in sight continually recalling home memories, long dwelling upon which is painful. Another reason, too, why Jack hates land, when he cannot enjoy a ramble upon it is, that he attributes to it, and not without reason, either, a miasmatic influence; and, whilst in its vicinity, every ache or pain is attributed to its vicinage, and he consoles himself by saying, “I will soon be all right, when we leave this infernal land and get outside.”
I cannot refrain from remarking on the character of the shipping on this ground. At this time there were some fifteen vessels cruising within an area of a hundred miles—three of us Yankees, nine from Hobartown, two from Yew Zealand, and a brig from Sydney. At daylight all might be seen busily engaged in hoisting their topsails and spreading their canvass; during the day using their best endeavors to get over as much ground as possible. At sundown, sail was shortened aboard of each. The schooner Otago, at the sunset hour, in fair weather, presented a strange appearance; always at such times and in such cases, taking in every rag and laying under bare poles—the captain assigning as a reason that it saved his sails. This craft originally came out from New London, Connecticut, as a tender to a whaler; here she was sold, and during six months of the year was employed conveying cattle and wool to Sydney, and the balance in whaling. The Eliza was a craft of much more aristocratic pretensions; she was a neat and tidy little schooner, and had been originally constructed as a yacht for Sir John Franklin, when he was governor of Van Diemen’s Land. After the daring explorer of the frozen North had removed from the Australian colonies, the Government employed her as a revenue cutter; but now she had fallen from her high estate and was employed as a blubber-hunter. But with far greater claims to pretension, although possessing a much more homely exterior, the old Prince Regent pursued her course in the same humble pursuit; she had been built as a yacht for George IV., the profligate, who for years was prince regent of the British empire. Unlike her royal master, she still survives with sound timbers, and is a staunch sea-worthy ship, though of a rather outre model. Two of the Hobartown whalers were clippers, built in Baltimore; on one of them, the Isabel, I saw the American coat of arms in full emblazon. These clippers, if they were only built stronger, would be excellent sperm whalers—being small, light, good sailers, and easy to work.
Several of the barques on the ground were built in Hobartown, from the Hobartown model; they had long heads on them, but their sterns, and run aft, were of a fashion of fifty years since, and, although so recently built, our old barkey would sail away from them as fast as they could come on.
From this time, until the middle of May, we remained in the same locality, experiencing a succession of tremendous gales, from the north-east and south-west, attended by heavy squalls that made the old ship ring again. In the interval between their recurrence, we saw sperm whales two or three times; on one occasion getting to them just in time to see the barque Runimede’s boats lying by the side of a dead whale. On another, we lowered away and arrived at the scene of operation in season to see the Sapphire’s boats capture four. Our mate fastened to a whale some distance from any of her boats, but it proved to be one that was already wounded by them; so nothing was left for us but to cut our line. The irons that our boatsteerer hove into the whale were recovered when they cut him in. With these irons they fastened to, and saved, no less than four large whales—a fifth they struck, but he sounded and carried off all their line. The irons were of the variety known as the “toggel,” and are an American improvement: the captain of the Sapphire was so thoroughly impressed with their value that he repeatedly solicited our captain for more of them. Another improvement that the American whaleman possesses, is the iron rowlock, in which the oar works with little or no difficulty. Other nations use the primitive thole-pin, consisting of pins of hard wood inserted in holes bored in the boat’s gunwale—the least crabbing of the oar being destruction to them.
These colonial gentlemen are fair whalemen, but do not possess the energetic, go-ahead spirit of their American cotemporaries. They work very carefully, and seldom expose their boats or themselves to much danger; for instance, they never sail on to whales, always taking the mast down when arriving in their vicinity. I remember hearing the captain of the ship Pacific remark that he had been whaling, man and boy, for thirty-five years, during which time he had never sailed on to a whale, and never had the boat stove in which he was. On the contrary, the Yankee whaleman, with or without sail, danger or no danger, is bound to strike the whale, if possible, and for this reason they are preferred, even in Hobartown, “because,” to use their own expression, “they will risk more to capture whales.” Several of the captains and officers of these ships were Americans; and great inducements are held out by Hobartown owners in the whaling trade, to induce Americans to embark in their employ.
On the 17th of May, the weather appearing threatening, we signalized the schooner Eliza, and under the pilotage of her captain, who came aboard of us, we kept off for Milford Haven Bay, intending to lay there during the continuance of the gale, and in the meantime to supply ourselves with wood and water, quantities of which can be had ad libitum in its vicinity. After beating about with light winds, and considerable towing with the boats, we contrived to drop our anchor at 8 o’clock in the evening, in sixteen fathoms of water, about a ship’s length from the shore. Lines were then run from the stern and secured to the rocks, so that we soon had her snugly moored stem and stern. The schooner Eliza was, latterly, very successful; having captured two whales, one of which she lost through stress of weather—the other, when tried out, furnished sufficient oil to till about sixty barrels, and her captain informed me would reimburse the owners for all outlay on the vessel—provisions being very cheap in this part of the world. Never did I see better meat, or sweeter flour, than the specimens of each this schooner had aboard; both were the produce of New Zealand, and the meat, having been but a short time salted, was much better than ours. As in port anybody is at liberty to board a whaler and get his dinner, we often availed ourselves of the privilege, as did they in boarding us; the molasses aboard of our ship being the center of attraction to them; also the biscuit, which to them is a rarity—they only using their flour baked into soft bread. All lived alike, fore and aft. Little discipline prevailed; the captain was called Tom, and the mate Bill. The shipkeeper and steward were men interested in the vessel, both old English men-of-war’s men, who had early settled on the island, and reared families—having married native women. From these men I learned that a marriage between two of the half-caste was always barren, never begetting offspring; but a half-caste man or woman intermarrying with the whites or native New Zealanders, were remarkable for their number of children. I was much pleased with these Mauriis; they were intelligent, courageous, and sprightly. Their songs, delivered with all the gusto of a half-civilized nature, possessed great interest. In their war songs they become imbued with the spirit of their music, and perform most curious antics, attended by horrid contortions of features. Their love songs, too, were accompanied by numerous gestures, one of them taking the lead, and the others joining in the chorus. These love songs were said, by those acquainted with their language, to consist of all that was licentious and disgusting; but to us who did not understand a word of them, it made very little difference. They also performed a pantomime, which, from its ridiculousness, excited our risibilities to prolonged laughter, to their great satisfaction.
The half-caste consider themselves a peg above the native, and take good care to let strangers know the distinction. They are a large, well-built race, and make excellent oarsmen; they are much addicted to the use of spirits; they lament much their inability to read and write, stating, in palliation of their ignorance, that when they were children there were no schools where they could receive an education, but that the rising generation, by the exertions of the missionaries, enjoyed the privilege of attending schools.
From us these people obtained tobacco, and captain, mate, and crew engaged in a game at all-fours for it. They played good humoredly, but appeared to be wholly wrapt up in the game. I asked the captain how he managed to preserve subordination where he allowed so much familiarity. He was a powerful, brawny figure, and a smile passed over his features at my question; extending his hared arm, corrugated with sinews, he said, “I play this fellow right and left amongst them, whenever they make too much noise.” The English part of the vessel’s crew professed great contempt for these savages, as they called them; but a good understanding appeared to exist between the parties.